


Friend of a Friend

by cheride



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Partnership, Protective Mozzie (White Collar), Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheride/pseuds/cheride
Summary: Their uneasy alliance has become even more strained of late, but Mozzie still has some things Peter needs to hear.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey & Mozzie
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	Friend of a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd write something light and fluffy between these two guys . . . it didn't turn out quite that way.
> 
> Thanks to [drwhogirl](https://https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwhogirl) for listening to me moan about title selection and trying to help. I didn't listen to her advice, so you can't blame her!

* * *

“Hey, partner, have you eaten? I brought—”

Peter Burke spoke as he came through the door, but broke off suddenly when he saw the short, bald figure regarding him with raised eyebrows from a spot at the dining table.

“Don’t you ever knock, Suit?” Mozzie demanded.

“Do you?” Peter snapped back, just for something to say. Conversations with Mozzie always put him on edge, and the recent business with Keller and El and the treasure had taken their relationship back a few steps. He plopped his bags onto the tabletop and turned to put a six-pack of beer in the fridge. “Where is he, anyway?” He changed his mind and pulled one of the bottles out of the pack before closing the door.

“I figured he was with you.”

“Well, that’s obviously not the case.” Peter glanced at his watch as he seated himself across from Mozzie. “He left work almost two hours ago; you haven’t seen him?”

“ _I’m_ not his keeper,” Moz countered.

“Don’t call me his keeper,” Peter muttered.

“It’s an undeniably accurate designation. Would you prefer jailer?” Peter scowled at him. “Well, at the very least,” Moz continued, “you shouldn’t stroll in here with that ‘ _partner’_ business. Neal takes that sort of thing seriously, you know.”

“You think I don’t?”

“I think partners trust each other, Suit. It’s not supposed to be a one-way street.”

Peter sighed and finally twisted the cap off his bottle. “I think it’s a little soon for you to be lecturing me on trust, Haversham.” He was still struggling to get things back on an even keel with Neal—something he’d hoped to help along with a variety of Chinese delicacies tonight—he thought smoothing things over with Moz would take a while longer.

There was tense silence then as the men focused themselves on their drinks. When it had stretched long enough to make Peter uncomfortable, he looked at his watch again and made another attempt at conversation, though he could admit it probably wasn’t his best effort.

“So, you just sit alone in his apartment, drink his wine, and wait? With no idea when he’ll show up?” The agent didn’t sound particularly convinced.

Mozzie just shrugged, widened his eyes innocently, and took a sip of wine.

Peter heard the _What’s it to you?_ as surely as if it had been spoken aloud. He tried to be a little more appeasing. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk, but Neal told me you were the one who concocted that smoke potion at Manhattan Prep last week. Thanks for helping out.”

“I did it for Neal,” Mozzie said flatly. Then he glared across the table. “But he asked for my help because _you_ were in trouble. I wonder if you’re ever going to be as concerned for him as he is for you.”

“That’s not fair,” Peter objected. “You know the things I’ve done, the rules I’ve bent for him.” He raised his bottle to his lips and tried not to worry about just how much Mozzie actually did know; that was the sort of thing that could keep him up nights.

Moz made a face at him. “Sure, and I know what you get out of keeping him around, too. One of the highest closure rates in the Bureau, right? Don’t try to pretend your actions are altruistic, Suit, because I know better, even if you’ve somehow managed to fool Neal.”

Peter felt his anger flare and narrowed his eyes. “You think _I’m_ using him? Because I don’t remember seeing _you_ around anywhere the morning he came into the office prepared to confess to stealing the treasure. With his history and the embarrassment the government would’ve had admitting that a felon under their supervision was responsible, they would’ve thrown the book at him. He’d have been lucky to get by with thirty or forty years, and it probably would’ve been life. And do you know what he was offered the _first_ time he was arrested if he’d just give up you and Kate? Of course, at the time, we didn’t know exactly who it was he was protecting, but Jesus, Mozzie, do you have _any_ idea what he was prepared to sacrifice for you?”

“You didn’t manage to convict him on anything I might have, hypothetically, been involved in, anyway,” Moz answered firmly, but he had paled a little at Peter’s words. He straightened himself and worked to get his bluster back. “And you seem to be forgetting what he was prepared to sacrifice for _you_.”

“I don’t want to hear about the damn treasure, Mozzie,” Peter snarled, his face darkening. “It was never his to give up!”

“Not the _treasure,_ Suit,” Mozzie shouted suddenly, face contorted in misery, “ _me!_ ”

Peter sat back quickly, unprepared for the outburst—and the anguished admission. Of course, Neal had already admitted that he hadn’t wanted to leave with the treasure and how that disagreement had led to an estrangement from Mozzie. But Neal’s revelation had been made during Elizabeth’s kidnapping, and though Peter had been surprised by the turn of events, he knew he hadn’t fully considered the ramifications of the friends’ falling out, especially since Moz had returned so quickly to help with El’s rescue. He had never taken the time to really appreciate Neal’s sacrifice, though Mozzie was correct; it had been _huge—_ maybe in some ways bigger even than the offer to confess. And Peter had certainly never given a moment’s thought to what that sacrifice would’ve meant to Mozzie. He took a long pull from his beer, giving himself a moment to think.

When he finally spoke again, Peter’s voice had softened. “I never meant for him to have to choose, Mozzie.”

“Really? With all your talk about doing the right thing and building a life? What did you think was going to happen?”

“I didn’t really think about it like that,” Peter admitted. “But I guess if I had, I would’ve thought maybe he could even drag you onto the straight and narrow with him.”

“Never gonna happen, Suit,” Mozzie scoffed.

Peter continued as if there’d been no response. “Or that you’d still be there for him, no matter what Neal decided.” He locked his gaze onto Mozzie’s. “You understand that I could’ve forbidden him to see you at any time, right? Made it a specific condition of his probation? I didn’t have to make him choose because I could’ve chosen for him.”

Mozzie was suddenly defensive. “You could’ve tried.”

Peter just shook his head and watched as Moz became fascinated with his wine glass, the rope bracelets around his wrist, cleaning his glasses—everything but the agent sitting across the table. Finally, Mozzie gave up the pretense and exhaled loudly.

“I did mean to,” he said quietly.

“Meant to what?” Peter asked.

“Make him choose.” He didn’t wait for Peter’s startled expression to turn into an actual question before hurrying on. “I gave him an ultimatum: leave with me or stay with you. He made his choice.”

Peter’s breath caught as he continued to stare at the other man. To hear Neal’s options laid out so starkly somehow made the gesture seem grander still, and for the first time, he truly felt the difficulty and magnitude of Neal’s decision to stay, recognizing what it had cost the long-time friends. “Mozzie . . .”

Moz waggled a hand at the agent. “Forget it, Suit. I’m still convinced he’s afflicted with some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. Neither one of you seems to understand that you’re trying to mold him into something he’s just not intended to be. It’s good that I returned so I can keep an eye on him. And you.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Peter replied wryly, though he was mildly surprised to find he honestly meant it.

“In some small way, I might say the same about you,” Mozzie admitted grudgingly. “ _But,_ ” he went on, casting a piercing glare at Peter, “you have to do better. You owe him more respect than you give; you owe him more trust.”

Peter frowned at him. “I think that’s between me and Neal.”

“It really isn’t,” Moz insisted, “because I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces when you hurt him with your holier than thou attitude. _And,_ ” he added pointedly, “I’m the one he calls for potions when you’re about to get hacked to bits with a table saw. You should try to stay in my good graces.”

Peter was just about to instruct the peevish little guy on the perils of threatening a federal agent, even in a relatively understated way, when the apartment door suddenly swung open.

“I hope you’re here, Moz, I brought—” Neal broke off as he saw the men at his dining table, their tension obvious in their rigid postures and pinched expressions. He threw a quick glance over at his mentor, then focused on his handler. “Peter.” His voice had lost its earlier enthusiasm, going a little flat, a little uncertain. Peter felt an irrational twinge of hurt at that, and Neal’s next words didn’t make it any better. “What are you doing here?” He stepped over and draped a bundle of dry cleaning bags across the couch without taking his eyes off Peter.

Trying to appear nonchalant (though he wouldn’t have had to feign the feeling twenty minutes earlier), Peter shrugged and said, “We haven’t had dinner in a while, and El had an event tonight.” He gestured at the bags sitting beside him. “I brought Chinese.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Mozzie said, rising from his chair. “I think the suit and I have said what needs saying.”

Peter wasn’t sure that was entirely accurate, but he certainly wasn’t about to argue. Neal obviously felt otherwise.

“Stay, Moz,” Neal said firmly. He held up the sack he still carried. “I brought tacos from that truck you like.” He crossed the room to the others and dropped the sack onto the table.

Mozzie tossed a victorious look at Peter and sank back into the seat.

“I guess that’s my cue, then,” Peter said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, Peter,” Neal answered, “you stay, too.”

That didn’t seem like a great idea. “Look, Neal, I shouldn’t have—”

“Peter.” Neal was pointing him back to his chair, and Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever heard quite that tone from the younger man before, but it didn’t seem to allow room for discussion. He sat.

Neal stood at the head of the table, looking between his two friends. He was silent for a long moment, examining them, getting a feel for the room, and also letting them sweat. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but it wasn’t hard to hear the lurking anger. “This is ridiculous, and it stops now.” He held up a stern finger when it seemed the others were both about to interject.

“I’m through. I’m through being stuck between you, through letting you pull me in opposite directions all the time, through trying to justify my loyalties. I’m _through._ So, whatever is going on between you two, you can work it out on your own time and leave me out of it, got it?” His mouth drew down into a frown when he didn’t receive an answer. “ _Got it?_ ”

“Got it,” Peter and Mozzie answered in unison, both looking suitably chastised.

“Good.” Neal blew out a long breath. “Now, apparently, we’ve got tacos and Chinese for dinner. Might make for a strange wine pairing, but I’m sure we can make something work. I’d like you both to stay, but if not, you can both leave; those are the only options for tonight.”

Peter and Moz exchanged a look, inquiring, sizing up the other, then finally nodded.

Peter grabbed his bags, carrying them to the microwave. “This is going to need to be reheated.”

“I think I saw a Riesling the other day,” Moz said as he hustled toward the wine rack, “that should work for Chinese and Mexican.”

And for his part, Neal Caffrey pulled out a chair and slumped down into it silently, wearing a satisfied smile.

**~END~**

**Author's Note:**

> It always seems trite to say, but thanks for reading. I really do appreciate you spending some of your precious time with me!


End file.
